


Taste of Sin

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mild horror but mostly porn, Stranger Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: Shiro’s just moved to a new place, his only link to the outside world a window facing the apartment across the street. The curtains are threadbare, gifts from his wedding that crashed and burned, but at midnight every night he pulls them open to watch his dark-haired neighbor slowly take off his clothes.Shiro falls in love with the man across the street.Things don't exactly work out as planned.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	Taste of Sin

Shiro’s just moved to a new place, his only link to the outside world a window facing the apartment across the street. The curtains are threadbare, gifts from his wedding that crashed and burned, but at midnight every night he pulls them open to watch his dark-haired neighbor slowly take off his clothes. 

It feels dirty like a sin, but he can’t stop his hand from sliding his fingers under the elastic of his sweatpants to grip his hard, aching cock. 

He wonders, idly, whether or not the man across the street has any idea just how much Shiro looks forward to seeing him after a long night at work. How much he wants to touch that supple skin, to run his tongue along the curve of his spine. There's an ache that Shiro doesn't understand building just below the surface, an almost inhuman desire for the man next door.

Just how much Shiro wants to take his cock into his mouth just to see the man’s eyes—blue, he thinks—roll back into his head as he runs his fingers through Shiro’s hair. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, that he shouldn’t have been watching the man like a stalker, but the temptation is far too great and Shiro is nothing but weakness personified. The first time he brings another man home, Shiro has to close the curtains because seeing those hands—not HIS hands—sends the serpent in his guts coiling, wanting nothing more than to strike.

Shiro orgasms so hard that his lungs burn and the shame of enjoying someone’s most intimate moment is painted across his chest and his face. He tries to stop himself the next night, but this time is his neighbor and another man—a _different_ man—and Shiro can’t help but watch. 

Especially when his neighbor decides to fuck his stranger right up against the window. Shiro times his hand to the beat of his neighbor’s newest paramour. Night after night he pushes himself to completion and then hates himself a little more.

But every night the man in the window seems to grow more bold and more fiery, and more than once Shiro feels like he’s being watched back. It's an oppressive feeling with just the faint hint of interest, though Shiro isn't sure if it's just in his head and his loneliness is finally getting the best of him.

_No. It can't be that. He knows. He can see me... can't he?_

That's probably why Shiro really isn't all that surprised when the letter arrives in his mail box—no name, no return address—with just a key and a number written in sloppy scrawl with three words that sent a shiver of anticipation up Shiro’s spine.

_**When you’re ready.** _

Shiro freezes like a deer in the headlights, and for the next three nights he doesn’t dare open his curtains. Not even a little peek. Instead, Shiro forces himself to take ice cold showers, as if that can calm the ache of his dick between his legs. 

It doesn’t work.

Nothing works. 

Shiro can only imagine that beautiful Adonis from across the street, and Shiro wonders more than once if it’s a trap and he’ll go over there and get his kneecaps busted in with a baseball bat. Fuck, even if he did get his kneecaps busted, it would still be more than worth it. 

On the fourth day Shiro takes a deep breath in before pulling his curtains apart, only to see his beautifully seductive neighbor sitting on the ledge of his window, one leg hanging off the side as he smoked a cigarette. He looks almost like a cat in the darkness, and Shiro can't help but feel as though maybe, just maybe, he's the prey.

Opening his window, Shiro can almost taste him on the cold winter air, and when the smoke blows against his cheeks he can’t help but inhale it. The burning cherry of his cigarette glows just enough for Shiro to see the hint of a smile across this beautiful man’s lips, dark and so very inticing.

They say nothing, because they don’t need to. This is the closest they’ve ever been, but Shiro knows now that he needs this more than he’s ever needed anything before in his entire fucking life.

He hears a chuckle—something soft and deep but rusted around the edges like a long-forgotten chain, and Shiro can’t say no to him. It wraps around his throat and pulls him into hell.

He can’t say no to this. Holding the cigarette between his lips, the dark-haired man slowly slinks back into his room, leaving the window open as he slowly begins pulling his shirt over his head with one hand. At this angle, Shiro can see every slope and every corded muscle of his back, and he wants to run his tongue and lips all the way down to the cleft of his ass. He wants to leave pretty pink bite marks there for whoever dared to come after. 

It was animalistic, greedy and needy, but Shiro hasn’t touched another person since long before the divorce and never before has he ever felt like _this_.

He takes his time. That’s the only thing Shiro can think of as he watches the man slowly unbuckle and then unbutton the zipper. He can almost pretend like he can hear the sound of the zipper flutter through the air, but the only thing he can hear is the pounding of his heart through his ears and the short, stuttered breaths escaping his lungs. 

This should be illegal.

_This probably IS illegal._

Shiro can see the edge man’s bed at this angle, so when he lays himself down, cheek pressed down into his dark sheet as his hand begins to work itself between his legs, Shiro can see everything now.. From his pert nipples down to cock, then backward until Shiro _does_ hear an audible sigh and a moan so filthy it nearly makes Shiro come of the spot. 

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. 

And when his neighbor is done, licking the cum off his fingers, he fucking _winks_ at Shiro before leisurely stretching and, with a laugh, he closes the curtains.

Shiro pulls his cock out so fast that the friction from his fingers and the waistband make him come nearly untouched. It’s not enough. They play this cat and mouse game every night for a week— a whole week of no visitors or booty call or whatever Shiro’s neighbor considers those faceless cocks. 

Shiro likes to pretend he’s the cat, but he knows the truth. The key burns in the pocket of his sweatpants, but he lacks the courage to do anything but grip the key tight in his hand as he jacks off, watching the man across the street writhe on top of his sheets. What is he waiting for? It isn’t for an invitation—he’s already gotten that.

There’s safety in the space between them, the whole goddamn street and two panes of glass and two sets of threadbare curtains. When his neighbor doesn’t open the window one night, the lights off and the silence echoing in Shiro’s head, Shiro wonders if his beautiful neighbor has bored of him. 

He’s a thirty-something no one, with nothing but reminders of his loneliness hanging around him. He tears the curtains down the next day, replacing them with heavy red velvet that whisper secrets to him as he feels the fabric brush against his skin.

That night, Shiro leaves the window and the curtains open, waiting for the clock to strike midnight in some twisted mockery of Cinderella. 

When he sees that so-familiar face in the window, Shiro realizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s not the only one who needs this. 

That night, Shiro steels himself as he watches the man across the street pull open his curtains and strip. But rather than running his hands across his body, he lays down on the bed and _waits_. If there was ever a time... it’s now.

Thumbing the key in his pocket, Shiro realizes that this feeling, this excitement and lust and yearning, was something he'd never experienced before. Not with his ex, not ever. 

He glances out the window at the bedroom across the way, and he places one hand against the window like a promise. He wonders if the man can see it. Wonders if the man knows just how much Shiro wants him.

There's no way he doesn't know. There's no way that he could have spent all that time giving Shiro the show of his life, nor would he have left the key for Shiro. 

Then he looks at Shiro, and he knows. He isn't the only one that needs this. it isn't just a thought or a hope.

No. There's a hunger there in his eyes, and Shiro can't say no to someone looking at him so beautifully. 

It doesn't take long to get to the man's apartment, his key rattling in Shiro's too-tight fist, but he slides it into the keyhole and waits to hear if the man on the other side makes any noise. 

Instead, there's a song fluttering through the air, something deep and sultry and _dirty_ , and Shiro has to swallow to try and force air back into his lungs. 

It works, but barely. 

There are candles lit, a musky smell of something like vanilla and sandalwood leading into the bedroom, and Shiro pulls off his boots and leaves them at the door before heading there. 

He waits at the cracked door for a few moments, relishing the hint of naked thigh through the crack. The man on the other side of the door hasn't moved and Shiro wonders if he'll just sit there until Shiro either earned the courage to open the door or tucked tail and ran.

He's not going to run. He _can't_ run, because his feet are all but glued to the floor. 

It takes everything in him to will his hand to the door knob, and even more to push it open. 

Shiro manages, just barely. 

He's more beautiful than the distances between them ever let Shiro see. Now that he's closer, Shiro can see the sun-kissed skin, the smattering of dark hair against his legs and thighs, even the dusky pink of his nipples in the light. When he looks up, Shiro sees his too blue eyes, and whatever words he wishes he could say fall into the ether of his gaze. 

The man languidly stretches, his heavy and half-hard cock leaking precum against his black sheets, before he whispers, "Took you long enough." 

Shiro stands there at the door until the man gives him a nod, almost shy in a way that Shiro didn't quite understand, as he slowly rolls onto his stomach and then spreads his legs.

Shiro sees that pert little hole he's dreamed about for weeks, already slick and ready for him. He can see a bottle of lube on the nightstand, a condom next to it, and when he catches the man's lust-filled eyes Shiro's hands shake. 

"You gunna make me come, or are you just gunna stand there?"

He doesn't need to be told twice. 

Shiro can barely believe how quick he is to cross the room and grab that condom packet, though the first thing he does is get on his knees and press an open-mouthed kiss against that lovely ass. His tongue laps at the hole, ready and waiting and so warm, and Shiro is pretty sure he could spend the rest of the night worshipping him with his tongue and that would be more than enough. 

The sound he makes is like heaven, that sweet keen of need and something so much more fierce. It's like a melody in his ears, and Shiro wants to spend the rest of his life remembering that sweet serenade. 

When the mystery man's hand reached around to run through his hair and press Shiro's tongue in deeper, Shiro is more than happy to oblige. 

"Oh, God—just like that, just like that." He's saying words, mumbling and moaning and panting, and Shiro knows he's doing well when he presses a finger into that wet cavern and drifts across his prostate. 

The strangled cry is almost enough to send Shiro over the edge, not even having touched himself. 

He doesn't want that, wants to last, so after fitting in two fingers and nipping and kissing his mark on his skin, Shiro pulls down his sweatpants and peels open the condom packet. 

More than anything, Shiro wants to take him raw, to feel the clench of muscles around him as he fucks into that impossibly tight hole before filling him up. Shiro doesn't, though—there was that simple trust between them that shouldn't have existed, but Shiro could feel it when the man looks over his shoulder and licks his reddening lips. 

He slides the condom over his cock, hard and hot in his hand, and then braces on hand on the small of his back before sheathing himself inside. 

"Oh, you're so tight, baby," Shiro whispers, as the man spreads his legs wider and his ass arches up as he buries his face in the pillow. He lets out a near-strangled scream as Shiro pushes inch by delicious inch inside, And all Shiro can do is lean down and run his teeth over the man's shoulder blade. "C'mon, baby. You can do it. I've got you." 

Maybe it's the feeling of Shiro inside him, angled to hit the delicious spot nestled just inside, or maybe it's the name 'Baby', but the strangled sound as the man under him nearly screams as his fingers dig into the mattress and his toes crack as Shiro fucks into him are better than the music playing low in the background. 

This is easily the dirtiest thing Shiro's ever done, but he doesn't care. He wraps one hand around the man's cock feeling it quiver in his hand. He knows that all he needs to do is run his finger down the bulging vein, to put the slightest pressure on the base, to let his finger run agaisnt the head and across the slit. He'd have him cumming in his hand in an instant. 

Shiro doesn't want that. Not yet, anyway.

So instead, Shiro gently runs his finger down to the base and cups the man's balls, firm enough to keep him from going over the edge, but not enough to bring him any satisfaction. 

The whine an the whisper of, "You're suck a—fucking—tease," is enough to make Shiro smirk and nip at the man's neck. 

"You knew I was watching." 

"And you—fuck, you knew I knew." 

Shiro did know, or at least he'd hoped. He wasn't sure until he'd found the key in his mailbox, and every night after that had been heaven and hell, just waiting to know if he'd ever gain the courage. 

"Did—did you like it? Watching me fuck other men?" 

Shiro's hand tightens around his balls enough to make the man under him almost _squeak_. 

"I'll take that as a yes," he laughs, breathless and so fucking _needy_ , and Shiro wants to do nothing more than nuzzle into his throat just to feel that laugh against his cheek. 

Instead, Shiro fucks him harder, enjoying the way he arches his body back as he tries to rub his dick against the bedspread below. Shiro"s hands are big, almost _too_ big, which is why he's able to cup the man's cock in one hand as he pulls him up on his knees as he ruts forward. 

He wants to see the man's face, but the only thing he can see is the profile of his face as he throats his back flush against Shiro's chest, their bodies moving in rhythm. 

"God, you're so big. Fuck _me_." 

"I _am_." 

The man laughs and Shiro knows that's not what he meant, but he loves the way he laughs more than he loves the way that laugh makes his body seize up in the most delicious way around his cock. But, from the way he moans and reaches up to grab a handful of Shiro's hair as his other hand covers Shiro's hand gripping his cock, Shiro's pretty sure he noticed. 

"I'm not gunna last," Shiro admits as the man's muscles tighten around him again when Shiro angle's up in just the right way to brush against his prostate. He wants to last forever, never wants to stop, but Shiro fan feel his orgasm building in his body. He doesn't have long before this is over—before this gorgeous man's slaked his lust and kicks Shiro to the curb.

 _And it'll still be the best thing that's ever happened to me,_ Shiro realizes as he feels the man's hand tighten around his. 

"Then _come_." His voice is harsh and thick and there's something there that sends a bolt of terror down Shiro's spine, but he can't stop. 

Shiro manages a few more thrusts, enough to make the bed hit the wall hard enough to leave metal marks against the white plaster, before he lets go of the man's balls and pumps his closed fist around his cock. 

He knows the exact moment he comes, because Shiro hears his name and feels the pulsing around his cock, and—

Wait. 

But Shiro’s crashing over the edge, his entire body shuddering as the mystery man under him cries out his name—again and again like a twisted prayer to a god that couldn’t hear.

_How does he know my name? How does he know my NAME?_

He doesn’t even have a chance to ask before he feels his cock pop loose and he’s on his back, flipped over with almost supernatural ease—

It isn’t until he sees those too-blue eyes flash yellow and purple that he realizes he may have gotten more than he bargained for. 

“My name’s Keith,” the beautiful man—no, _not_ a man, something _else_ , something hungry and dangerous and far too beautiful, whispers as he leans down, taking Shiro’s earlobe into his mouth. “but I like it when you call me baby.”

Shiro hisses as he feels Keith bite—hard enough to draw blood, but not enough to be excruciatingly painful. 

“And I don’t think I want to eat you. Not yet, anyway.” 

Keith leans down for a kiss, bloody and fanged, and Shiro can’t help but to return it with vigor. 

He did want something different, didn’t he? 

  
  



End file.
